


Promise

by Zilchtastic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Shameless Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilchtastic/pseuds/Zilchtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's taken to keeping extra healing potions in the dresser in her room. She drinks them in secret, so no one questions the bruises, the bitemarks, the fact that after seeing Iron Bull she couldn't otherwise sit down for three days. She drinks each one with a guilty, squirming feeling in her stomach; she can erase the marks, ease the soreness, but she can't erase what he's done to her.</p>
<p>What she's <i>let</i> him do to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This was a hard piece to write, and even as it flowed I struggled with it. Lavellan's struggle with her feelings about the nature of her and Bull's relationship was very hard to put into words. I hope I've managed to convey what I wanted to.

She's taken to keeping extra healing potions in the dresser in her room. She drinks them in secret, so no one questions the bruises, the bitemarks, the fact that after seeing Iron Bull she couldn't otherwise sit down for three days. She drinks each one with a guilty, squirming feeling in her stomach; she can erase the marks, ease the soreness, but she can't erase what he's done to her.

What she's _let_ him do to her.

She throws the empty potion bottle at the wall. It shatters, raining to the floor in glittering shards. She stares at them, feeling stupid and angry without knowing why.

There's something ugly and uncomfortable growing in the back of her mind, something she doesn't want to examine too closely. She's afraid of what she'll see if she examines it under the light. So she throws herself into her work; so many decisions to make, so many things to read and sign and authorize, so many meetings to attend. For the better part of two weeks she manages to stay so busy that the issue never comes up, though when she's falling asleep at night (late at night, alone in her bed) that ugly thing sometimes burrows its way into her thoughts, her dreams, and she wakes up gasping and out of sorts, snappish and angry the whole day.

It should come as no surprise the night she mounts her stairs only to find Iron Bull stretched out across her bed. It's a huge bed, a sturdy four-poster, but he makes it look tiny and fragile with his bulk.

He's got his arms behind his head, pose so artfully casual that it sparks some strange feeling of temper inside her. "Did you pick the lock," she asks, tasting bitterness at the back of her throat, "or did you just have yourself a key made?"

He smirks at her, infuriating. "Hey Boss," he says, ignoring the question. "Think we need to chat."

"And by 'chat' you mean putting me over your knee again, is that it?"

His eyebrows go up in surprise. "That can come later," he says slowly, like he's testing the waters. "By 'chat' I meant 'let's talk about why you've been avoiding me lately'."

She flinches guiltily. "I haven't-- I've been _busy_. The world's falling apart, and I'm trying my best to put it back together." That ugly thing twists in her stomach, and she finally identifies it as anger. "Excuse me if I've had less time to bend over and take it like a good girl."

Bull's eyebrows raise higher, then plunge into a frown. "That's what this is about? I thought-- No, nevermind. I should've expected this." He sighs, shaking his head. "Don't know why I didn't see the signs."

"What signs? What do you mean, 'this'?" Her hands ball into fists at her sides, unconciously.

"The pushback," Bull says, like that explains everything. "You're mad because you're feeling weak, right? Because I make you feel weak with everything we do together."

Her rage flares at that, sudden and hot and shocking. "I _am not weak!_ " Bull nods, but not quite like he's agreeing. "And there it is."

"Damn you," she says, and a fine trembling has started in her body, not fear but anger. "Damn you, Iron Bull. I don't want this. I don't _want_ to want this. What have you done to me?"

Bull shrugs, infuriating. "I haven't done a thing--"

"'Haven't done a thing'?" She actually takes a step forward, hands coming up like she wants to hit him. "You tie me to my own bed, you hit me, you, you--"

Words fail her, she's choking on her own rage.

"I make you want it?" He supplies, ever-so-helpful.

"Yes, damn you! Yes!" She can feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes; frustration and anger and helplessness and resentment all whirl about in a confusing maelstrom within her.

He shrugs again. "Sorry, Boss, but that's not me. That's all you."

She grits her teeth. She wants to hit something, break something, scream. "No," she chokes out.

"You may not have known what you liked before I came into the picture," Bull explains, "but that doesn't mean it wasn't there, under the surface. Just took a little coaxing to bring it out."

_That can't be true,_ she thinks. _I've never wanted to be tied up, pinned down, hit, hurt, dominated..._

But doubt creeps in on little cat feet, then, and she wonders if some part of her hadn't always craved something like this. Maybe that's why she'd been fascinated by Iron Bull from the start; maybe that's why he knew she wanted him before even she did.

She shakes her head, trying to clear it. Her temper flares again. _I don't want to want this. I'm not weak. I'm not weak, dammit! ___

Bull sighs again and holds out a hand. "Come here, kadan."

"No."

He looks surprised by that, actually surprised that she would refuse him. "That wasn't a request," he tells her, voice going low like a growl.

"No," she says again, and now she's shaking harder, rage mixing with fear. She's never told him no before. She's always been obedient, responsive, even meek. Even she doesn't quite know how to handle this new defiance.

Bull slides out of her bed; when he rises to his full height he's more than a little intimidating. She, a slender elf, barely comes up to his chest. She feels suddenly small and fragile, and it fuels her anger more.

"I should've expected this," he says again, sounding regretful. "You're too spirited to give in so easily. You're not a broken-in horse."

"That's right," she says, through gritted teeth.

"You'll always be a little untamed," he says. "But that doesn't mean things have changed between us. Come here, kadan. I won't ask you again."

She takes a step forward, stops. Trembles. Bites her lip. "Make me," she says, finally.

Bull just nods, calm, like he expected her to say just that. "If that's the way you need it. Fight me if you have to, kadan. Fight for all you're worth. Let it out. But I want you to remember something."

"What?" She's poised, ready to run, or fight, or... She's not sure what. But she's ready.

"'Katoh'."

That gives her pause. "What?" she asks again, confused this time.

"'Katoh'," he repeats, as if she hadn't heard him right. "Remember your word. You want to stop, you really feel hurt or scared, you say your word, and this stops. Remember that."

"I..." She could say it right now. She could stop this, make him go away, end this struggle before it even begins. But the word sticks in her throat. Why can't she say it? Why can't she...?

Iron Bull starts forward, and she finds herself scrambling backward to avoid him. There isn't anyplace to go, though-- her back hits a stone wall before she knows it. She licks her lips, glances left. The only escape is down the stairs.

Her indecision costs her. Bull is on her, grabbing her roughly, pinning her arms over her head just like the first time they did this, and she can't stop the shudder that runs through her, the electricity that sparks its way up her spine. "No," she says again, but it comes out almost like a question, unsure.

"Kadan, you've been disobedient. I can't let that go. In here, in this room, what I say goes." He lifts her chin with his free hand. "You have to understand that. I do this for you."

Temper flares again, black and ugly. "For _me?_ You're telling me you hit me for my own good?" She tries to wrench out of his grasp but his hand is too big, too strong.

He nods, seriously. "That's exactly right."

"Liar." She spits the word.

"I take care of you. Out there, you have all the power, all the responsibility. The weight of the world is on your shoulders. But in here, it's just you, just me. You don't have to be responsible for anything." He lifts her chin more, pulls on her arms so she's forced up on tip-toe. "Let me take care of you. Let go of your control. Give it to me, and I'll make you scream."

She's shaking so hard it feels like her bones will rattle apart. "No," she says, but it's only a whisper this time. She's wet-- she can _feel_ it, practically feel her pulse throbbing between her legs. _I don't want to want this. I don't want to be weak. ___

She pulls suddenly, trying to free her arms. Bull is obviously surprised; she almost manages to wrench one hand free. She twists in his grasp, desperate, heart pounding in her ears.

All he has to do is push back; his bulk easily pins her against the cold stone wall. She can feel him, hard and huge against her belly. She struggles harder, but there's nowhere to go.

"Fight it, Kadan," he urges her. "Fight as hard as you can. When you give in to me it'll be that much sweeter."

"I won't!" she gasps, but her voice comes out high and frightened. She tries to lift a leg to knee him right in the groin, but he just pushes in closer so that now he's between her legs. She makes a high keening sound-- rage and arousal and a heavy dose of confusion. _Why am I getting excited by this? Why do I want this so badly? ___

She grits her teeth; tears prick her eyes again. "I hate you. _I hate you!_ "

"No, you don't. You're just hating yourself a little bit right now." She can feel his voice rumbling in his chest. "You don't want to submit... Except you do."

He lifts her chin again, forces her to look him in the eye. "I'm going to tie you to the bedposts, Kadan. Then I'm going to belt you." She freezes, eyes going wide. "It's going to hurt, but I want you to know why you're being punished. Do you know?"

"B-because I'm..." She swallows hard, almost can't continue because her voice is shaking so badly. "Because I'm disobedient."

He nods approvingly. "We'll start with ten lashes. Do you think you can handle ten?"

She whimpers. His belt is wide, made of leather. It has thick metal studs in places. It will hurt. Oh, gods, it will hurt. She closes her eyes, feels wetness trail down her cheeks. "I can't."

"You can," he tells her, voice almost soothing now, reassuring. "You're strong. I know you can do it. For me."

Her rage is draining out of her like water; she sags in his grip, letting him hold up her full weight. "I'm not strong," she whispers, and it breaks something in her to say it. A wall within her crumbles, and she feels the tears flowing freely now. "Help me," she whispers, but she doesn't even know what she means by it.

Bull bends down, kisses her cheeks, her tears. When he kisses her mouth, gently, so gently, he tastes of salt. "I will. But you need to trust me. You need to let me take care of you."

"Okay," she whispers.

He strips her clothes off slowly, carefully, every motion calculated. Boots first, one and then the other; she balances on his shoulders as he gets down on one knee to do it. Shirt next; he undoes each clasp slowly, with almost maddening patience.

She's passive, not helping but not resisting either. When at last she's fully naked she shivers in the cool air.

"Bed," Bull says, nudging her shoulder. "Stand at the foot, and grasp the bedposts."

She freezes, lassitude suddenly dissolving in a wash of terror. This is it. He's really going to do it. Is she really going to let him?

_Katoh,_ she thinks. _All I have to do is say katoh. I can stop this. I can stop this any time. _The thought gives her a strange feeling of courage, of power. _Any time. If it hurts too much, I can make him stop.___

She goes over to the bed, grasps the wooden bedposts.

"Higher," Bull tells her, and she slides her hands up until they're over her head. "Keep them there. If you let go, I'll give you another ten lashes."

She shudders at that. _Don't let go,_ she tells herself. _Don't let go._

She hears straps unbuckling behind her, the whisper of leather against fabric. He's taking off his belt.

The first blow is a shock of pain, an explosion of red heat against her ass. She cries out, a high-pitched shriek, surprised. Her hands tighten on the wood.

"Count," Iron Bull instructs her.

"One," she says, shakily.

"Good girl. You can do this. Only nine more to go." He soothes a hand over her ass, gentle, steadying her. She shakes, anticipating the next blow.

He makes her wait for it. She tenses every time she hears the belt whistle through the air, but he's only doing it to keep her on edge. Finally she can take it no more. "Are you going to hit me or not?" she snaps, that edge of temper creeping back into her voice.

He does. Harder. She shrieks again, leaning forward over the bed as if she can escape the blows if she gets a little distance between them. Her palms are sweating, slippery on the polished wood. _Don't let go. Don't let go._

" _Count!_ " he barks, and she realizes she's forgotten.

"Two!" she gasps hastily.

The third smack has her seeing stars behind the eyelids she hadn't realized she'd closed. "Th-three!" Her ass is aflame with red-hot pain; without a healing potion she won't be able to sit for a week.

Blows four and five come in rapid succession, and she almost forgets to count again as she cries out. Her arms are trembling so badly she truly fears she'll let go by accident. "Please," she sobs, "please, I can't, I can't."

"You can." Blow six lands against the backs of her thighs, and she wails.

"You're doing good," Bull tells her. "You're doing so good, kadan. Do you understand yet? Do you understand why I do this?"

She feels almost dizzy. She shakes her head, as much a denial as an attempt to clear her befuddled thoughts.

"I do this for you. I do this so you can give in. I do this because you're _safe_ here. Safe to cry, safe to let go, safe to _submit_. I would never do anything to harm you, kadan. You know that. _Let_ yourself know that."

She does know that. The pain is shocking, but he's... He's in control, she thinks. He knows exactly how hard to hit, and where. He has never damaged her, truly. He has never hurt her beyond her ability to take it. He knows her, and he knows what to do.

She can let go. She can let him be the guide. She can let him give the orders. She can be free.

Blow seven is light, almost a tease, more like a reminder than something meant to truly hurt. She counts it, teeth gritted. Her hands grasp the wood more tightly.

Eight is pain, white-hot, searing pain. He's crisscrossing his blows, she realizes, lashing patterns into her milk-pale skin. She sobs out the number, leaning low over the bed, suddenly afraid that her legs will give out.

_Katoh,_ she thinks. _All I have to say is katoh._

But there are only two more to go, and she isn't weak. She _isn't_. She can prove it. She can take it. She bites her lip, hard. "Please," she whispers.

She can almost feel him pause. "'Please'?" he repeats, making it a question.

"Please, hit me. Hit me, ser."

" _Kadan_." He snarls the word, savage, passionate. She can't see his face but she can imagine it, his intense look, the fire in his good eye. She shudders.

Blow nine makes her scream, long and loud. She's gasping, barely able to suck in enough air, and her cheeks are wet with tears. Her left hand slips, then refinds its grip. Her thighs tremble violently.

Blow ten seems to take forever to come, but when it does she breaks, screaming out her pain, her anger, her self-loathing. She's sobbing, loud and ugly and helpless to stop. _Why? Why do I want this? Why? Am I sick? Am I wrong?_ But she doesn't _feel_ sick, or wrong. She feels proud, almost. _I did it. I did it._ Ten lashes with a belt, and she took every one. She cries her heart out, and Bull murmurs to her, soothes her, pets her hair, smooths a hand down her back, traces gentle patterns across her skin.

"Kadan," he says, over and over. _My heart._

When her sobs finally subside into little gasps and odd hiccups, Bull pries her fingers off the bedposts and heaves her up onto the bed. She curls on her side, trembling a little, and he curls around her like some enormous cat. A lion, she thinks, scarred and massive and battle-hardened, but now so gentle, so kind, so warm. She relaxes into his heat.

Iron Bull runs fingers up and down the curve of her hip. "You okay now, Kadan? Can you talk?"

It takes her two tries, and her voice comes out sounding like rust. "I'm... I'm okay."

"You did good," he tells her. "You did so good." He kisses her shoulder, the side of her neck. "I'm so proud of you. You're the strongest woman I've ever known."

For now, she believes him. She's too weary to fight anymore. She feels like she could sleep for a hundred years.

She stares off into the middle distance, eyelids growing heavy. "I could've stopped you," she says, words slurring a little. "I could've stopped this at any time. But I didn't."

Bull pets her side, long, soothing strokes. He waits.

"I don't... I don't have to save the world in here. I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."

"Mm-hmm." Bull sounds sleepy now, too.

"I want you to control me," she whispers, almost to herself, "so I can finally let go of everything. It's so heavy, Bull. Everything is so heavy."

He kisses her shoulder again, lingeringly. "I know, Kadan. I know."

"I'm not weak."

"You're not weak," he agrees. "You'll never be weak. When you submit to me, you're doing one of the bravest things a person can do. You're trusting me. And I will always, _always_ take care of you."

She breathes in, deep, and lets out the breath long and slow. The last of that ugly black rage drains out with it.

"Keep me safe," she murmurs.

"Anything you say, Boss."

She's smiling as she drifts off to sleep.

***

The next morning she's so sore she can barely move. She finds her little brass hand-mirror and with a lot of twisting and contorting, manages to see the marks left on her ass and thighs. Deep red welts tiger-stripe her skin; when she runs a tentative hand over them she lets out an involuntary hiss of pain.

"You look so good like that," Bull says from the bed, voice smug and a little turned-on. "All that red against your lovely white skin."

She can feel herself blushing. She goes over to the dresser, ready to pull out a potion, then stops.

_I stand during meetings anyway,_ she thinks, a little embarrassed. She pulls out her clothes instead, and leaves the bottle where it is.

The pain stays with her throughout the day-- little shocks every time she forgets, every time she moves wrong. She leans against Cullen's desk at one point, unthinking, and almost yelps as the sharp wood digs into her abused backside. Cullen gives her an alarmed look; she makes up a hasty and not very convincing excuse about splinters.

Every time it hurts, though, she feels a little swell of pride. _I did it. I got through it._ The marks are proof that she was strong, that she held out through the pain. _I'm not weak. I'm in control. It stops when I say it stops. In the end, I'm the one in control._

She spends the rest of the day smiling, feeling lighter than she has in years.

***

"Tonight I'm going to pin you down and fuck you like you've never been fucked before," Bull whispers in her ear later that evening.

She lowers her eyelashes, coy, still smiling. "Promise?"

He grins back at her, every bit of him radiating approval and pride. "Promise."


End file.
